Page 55 of The Murder of Thomas Cardwell
Jordan took the small book, rose, and circled the desk to stand beside Montague, who promptly perched a pair of pince-nez on his nose.
After opening the notebook, Jordan flattened it on Montague’s blotter. “If you look at the entries here”—he pointed—“and here, you can see that the same three bank accounts regularly feed funds into this account.”
Intrigued, Montague picked up the notebook and studied the figures more closely.
“If you look backward and forward in time,” Jordan continued, “you’ll see that every time payments are made, they’re always from those same three accounts, and every time such payments are made, each of the three accounts pays a similar amount into Chesterton’s account.”
Studying the figures, Montague huffed. “And it appears this Chesterton withdraws the lot in cash.”
“For the guns and the transport and storage of them, we suppose,” Penelope said.
Montague flicked through the pages. “In which bank is this account held?”
Jordan showed him where the name was scribbled. “We think that says ‘Moreton’s.’”
Montague studied the name, then looked at the account numbers and nodded. “Yes, it’s Moreton’s.” He glanced at Stokes and Barnaby. “And from the account numbers, I can tell you that, as well as Chesterton’s account, all three crediting accounts are with the same bank.”
Stokes inclined his head. “That’s what Jordan thought. We were hoping you might be able to assist us in convincing the manager at Moreton’s that, in this instance, it would be right and proper to supply us with the identities of our three mystery account holders.”
“Well, plainly, you need to identify them, and yes, of course I’ll lend my voice to your chorus.” Montague paused, clearly thinking, and they waited to hear the outcome. Eventually, he refocused on Stokes and Barnaby and explained, “However, Moreton’s is now the private arm of the New Union Bank, and while I haven’t had any recent dealings with New Union or Moreton’s myself, I know of someone who has, and I’m surehe’ll be delighted to add his considerable weight to mine in persuading the bank manager to divulge the details you require.”
Barnaby grinned. “Thomas Glendower?”
Montague nodded. “He dropped in earlier to discuss another matter, so I know he’s at Drayton’s today.”
“Well, then.” Stokes slapped his palms on the chair’s arms and pushed to his feet. “Let’s get around there and rope him in.”
Barnaby ushered Penelope into the corridor, and the others followed.
In the foyer, Montague paused to pick up his hat and inform Slocum, “I’ll be out, possibly for up to an hour, Slocum.” Setting his hat on his head, Montague smiled at the investigators. “How long depends on how resistant to seeing sense the manager of Moreton’s proves to be.”
“Indeed, sir,” Slocum replied. “We’ll hold the fort here.”
The company trooped out of the office and onto the pavement, then proceeded around the corner into Threadneedle Street. A little way along, Barnaby and Penelope, in the lead, turned in to a narrow building indistinguishable from its neighbors. They climbed the stairs to the first floor, then made for the front of the building, where a pair of half-glazed double doors gave access to the prime suite that overlooked the street.
The name “Drayton and Company” was etched in simple gold lettering on the doors, and the wide, light-filled room beyond was crammed with staff, all busy doing this and that. The middle-aged receptionist seated behind the counter-like desk facing the door looked up, a pleasant and welcoming smile on his face.
He recognized them, and his smile brightened. “Mrs. Adair, Mr. Adair, Mr. Montague, and Inspector Stokes, too.” He was already rising and reaching for the gate in the waist-high barrier. “Please, come through.”
“Mr. Glendower isn’t expecting us, Minns,” Montague stated. “But I suspect he’ll be glad to see us.”
“Indeed, sir.” Minns waved them through the gap. “He doesn’t have anyone with him, and I’m sure he’ll be glad of your visit.”
Penelope led the way to the unmarked door set in the paneled wall that formed one side of the office.
She paused before it, and Barnaby reached around her and, after a single rap on the panel, set the door swinging wide.
Penelope swept into the room with the words “Good morning, Thomas. We come bearing gifts—namely, an adventure and a challenge.”
From his position behind his imposingly large and neat desk, Thomas Glendower looked up, took in the people invading his private space, then set aside the pen he’d been holding and smiled charmingly. “Excellent, my dear Penelope. Investing has been rather dull of late, and I could use a distraction.”
Thomas rose and greeted Penelope warmly, raising her hands to his lips and bussing her knuckles, then he shook the men’s hands. Barnaby introduced Jordan by name only. Jordan appeared a trifle wide-eyed as he clasped the legendary investor’s hand.
True to the expectations of Barnaby, Penelope, and Stokes, Thomas narrowed his eyes at Jordan, then said, “Ah yes. You’re Roscoe’s man.”
Jordan was surprised to have been recognized as such. Hesitantly, he asked, “Have we met previously, sir?”
Thomas smiled. “No, no. I just make it a habit to keep abreast of such things.”
